Daphne
by Thunder S Silence
Summary: The tale of how Daphne became Laurel. Another re-telling, but one I hope will be entertaining.


Okay, so this isn't actually my best work ever, but I really like this story. I enjoy that some girls really never gave in, and so i felt the need to develop it/her further. I know that the chracterization isn't all that great, and I'm sorry for the odd time-period references. This was intended to take place in Ancient Greece, and not in modern day. So, things won't rhyme or be particularly great like they are today, as this is, in my opinion, only the beginning of such art styles. That's my excuse, at least. I hope you enjoy it!

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><p>I will tell you now that none of this is <em>my<em> fault. It's not his, either - not really - so I shouldn't blame him, but I can't help that I do. _None_ of this should have happened.

My name is Daphne - well, _was_, but we'll get to that - and I am beautiful. Blond hair, green eyes, and a glorious smile. Of course, I can't take credit for my good looks - my father _is_ a god, minor or no. I didn't know much about my mother anymore, since she'd left me to my father by our starting point. But, I must say, I was very happy by the river my father had dominion over. I didn't mind the trip to the nearest city-state to bring my fish to market, and I didn't have to worry about men or women or whatever coming to my house and trying to wriggle their ways into my bed. Unlike most people out there, I honestly had no interest in such things, and found them to be quite messy and stupid.

Unfortunately it was that disdain for normal things that got me here, stranded on this - ugh, never mind. We'll start where I said: my house.

It was early in the morning. The wind was blowing the smells of my neighbor's cooking through the cracks in the windows. The birds were singing annoyingly, and I was tempted to shoot them, were it not for the fact that I feared Hera's rage for destroying one of her favorite creatures. So, I heaved a sigh and got up, beginning my daily routine of cooking and collecting fish to bring to market.

While there, I haggled and bargained and sold my wares, as my father had taken great care to procure them for me. That is, I did my job and earned my keep until I saw the most beautiful golden hair I'd ever seen in my life.

So, naturally, I gaped at the youth like one of my fish, and he raised an eyebrow at me through the crowd. Why was he looking at me? He may be worth looking at, and so may I be, but he didn't have any money or seem to be interested in buying anything.

I closed my mouth and sold my fish, determined not to look at the boy again. He was very attractive, but he had the look of someone who wanted just what the others did. He looked at me like that. Like I was the one he wanted beside him in the morning. Well, he would have to learn to take 'no' for an answer because that was _so_ not happening.

"May you be blessed," I was greeted - that's really weird, by the way, only priests say that - by someone with a pleasant, musical voice, and I turned only to see the golden-haired boy from earlier. Oh, boy.

"Good day to you, sir." Best to be polite. Everyone knew that anyone you met could be a god. And if you angered them, a thousand curses would fall on your head. I prayed to my father that this one would not be a god, though, since gods also tend to insist on mortal lovers' company.

He leaned onto a nearby wall, staring at my hair.

"Your hair has the brilliance of light, both bright and pure. It gleams like the morning sun, and is equally as refreshing. Your eyes shine as such things more precious than Hades' stones, and surely hold more mystery than death itself." Whoa. A poet. And an intense one, at that. But, I'd never been big on Apollo's domain. Music bores me, as it serves no purpose, and archery is not necessary for fishing. I did not respond beyond a smile, and turned away to a customer who was buying.

"Your form is lithe like a willow on the banks of a river, and sways with the grace of a leaf on the wind." the boy interrupted again as I handed the man his fish. Biting my lip in agitation, I turned to look at him, only to find that he was far closer than was even remotely necessary. I stumbled backwards, startled. He stepped forward, looking amused as he continued. "My beauteous girl, how your visage twists, becoming nothing less than perfection, even as your face changes and ages." Was he calling me old? I was no older than twelve, a full-fledged adult! I shoved a fish in his face.

"This fish is a particularly good catch. If it is what you desire, then buy it and be gone, sir." It was polite, compared to what I wanted to say. He threw his head back and laughed, taking the fish and tossing it into the fire. I gaped in astonishment, but then his arms were around my waist as he spoke into my ear.

"I accept your offering to me, Phoebus Apollo, God of Music, Poetry, Healing, and Sunlight." He kissed my ear, and smiled at me. "Now come away with me, lovely catch of mine, and I will see you rightly rewarded." This was the moment to give in, which was totally acceptable. It was totally fine to just go and bed him and be done with it. But he was looking at me like a fish, deciding the price he would sell me at. He looked at me as though I had already said yes.

My house was too far away. But my father's river was close. Close enough for a miracle? I prayed to him that I would make it, and reached up, slapping the god away from me with all that I had. I would not bed him because he claimed to be a god.

I ran. I ran hard. I ran fast. I ran faster than I ever had in my life. I heard him behind me, laughing as though this were all a game, as though the blow hadn't even hurt him. My rage and indignation fuelled me, and I could smell the water.

My dress was snagging too much. He was hanging back, playing and not even really trying to catch me. It was a large insult, really, that even though I had developed legs strong enough to withstand currents and arms strong enough to haul in pounds and pounds of fish, I was not fast enough or strong enough to outmatch him. I prayed to my father that at least he would not get to bed me, and tried to resist the tears blurring my vision. It was hopeless. Pandora's box with no hope at the bottom, no small goodness escaping. I was going to lose, and then Apollo would discover my true feelings and punish me for them. I recalled his golden arrows of excruciating pain upon death, his deadly accuracy as the God of Archery, and tripped, knowing now that I would not make it.

"My darling girl, your persistence strikes me. I think we will enjoy our time together later." He was singing at me, now. Like the birds outside my window. I had to run from that, at least. I hated music. I hated this god. Did he not understand my reason for running?

We were almost there. Almost to my father's river. The god was catching up, close on my heels.

"_Father, please don't let him have me."_

That was the last thought I had as a human. Then, as soft hands with calloused fingers began to caress my shoulder, I spilled over onto the bank of my father's river, where I felt my toes lengthen, digging into the ground and growing deeper. I screamed in the moment I could as my arms shot heavenward, becoming branches as my hair fell out and was replaced by more twigs and branches. Then, the brown things began spurting out of my mouth, clogging my vocal cords and bringing forth the last tears I would ever cry. And then, green began to grow, and I realized that my father had answered my prayer. Now, the god was here, but could not have me. And I was here, untouchable forever.

I felt the hands of the chaser as he traced the contours of my trunk, and noticed that he was not even winded. He was disappointed, but not hurt or fazed as he climbed my branches, breaking off a twig or two - (which _really_ hurt, by the way) - and weaving them into a crown, which he placed on his head.

"We truly would've had fun, my sweet. And since we were robbed of that, I declare you now to be my holy tree, the Laurel, that we will be together forevermore." It was romantic, I suppose, that he thought I liked him and so never left my side. But, really, all I felt was despair. My prayers had not been answered at all. I was his, now. In body and soul.

And so I cursed his lovers, then, feeling that they should suffer as I suffered, and make him regret this day I became Laurel. And since then, Hyacinthus, Leucothea, Cassandra, Coronis, and Cyparissus have all suffered for the sin of loving the god I hate. And many more, I'm sure, will come to meet the fate born of undying hatred. Many, many more…


End file.
